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THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE 
DEAD MUSICIAH 

AND OTHER POEMS 

By 
CHARLES L. o'DONNELL, C. S. C. 



« 



NEW YORK 

LAURENCE J. GOMME 

I9l6 



<r 



« 






Copyright, 1916, by 
LAURENCE J. GOMME 



For permission to reprint these verses, the 
author makes grateful acknowledgment to 
the editors of Harper s Magazine, the Atlantic 
Monthly, the Ave Maria, the New York Sun, 
Lippincott J s, the Catholic World, the In- 
dependent, the Smart Set, and Poetry: A 
Magazine of Verse. 



/> 



P-l 1916 



VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY 
INGHAMTON AND NEW YORK 



'GLA438212 

— v» d / 






To 
MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Dead Musician 3 

A HIVE OF SONG 

Immortality n 

The Sign 12 

The Earth-Hour 13 

The Poet's Bread 14 

Forgiveness 15 

A March Evening 16 

O Twilight Hour! 17 

Harvest-Fields 19 

Ver 20 

Drought 21 

A Farewell 22 

The Earth Mother 23 

On a Little Boy Who Died 24 

Dante to Beatrice on Earth 26 

DREAMS OF DONEGAL 

Inheritance 31 

Lament of the Stolen Bride 33 

The Spell of Donegal 35 

In Exile 37 

A Shrine of Donegal 38 

Killybegs 4° 



THE BIRD OF GOD 

PAGE 

Prevision 45 

Restoration 47 

In the Night 48 

The Woof of Life 50 

The Wings of Rest 51 

Requital 53 

Angels at Bethlehem 54 

Christmas Carol 56 

After Christmas 57 

His Feet 58 

The Son of Man 60 

The Poor Man of Galilee 61 

i/The Virgin Perfect 63 

To St. Joseph 64 

On a Picture of the Holy Family ... 65 

The Baptist 67 

Gethsemane 68 

The Mothers 69 

Among His Own 70 

Partus Virginis 72 

QUATRAINS 

Martha and Mary 77 

In Winter 78 

Elevation 79 

The Shamrock 80 

Reception 81 

The Son of God 82 

The Spendthrift 83 

Two Children 84 



PAGE 

Stars 85 

Life 86 

Request 87 

" Scourged and Crowned " 88 

Raiment 89 

At Emmaus 90 

The Nativity: A Miracle Play 91 

ODES 

A Hosting of the Gael 103 

Indiana Day, Panama-Pacific International 

Exposition 109 

Prelude — To California in 

Ode: Panama, the Mastery of Man . . .114 
Postlude: (To Indiana's Poet, James Whit- 
comb Riley) 120 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

In memory of Brother Basil, organist for half a 
century at Notre Dame. 

He was the player and the played upon, 
He was the actor and the acted on, 
Artist, and yet himself a substance wrought; 
God played on him as he upon the keys, 
Moving his soul to mightiest melodies 
Of lowly serving, hid austerities, 
And holy thought that our high dream out- 
tops, — 
He was an organ where God kept the stops. 

Naught, naught 
Of all he gave us came so wondrous clear 
As that he sounded to the Master's ear. 



Wedded he was to the immortal Three, 
Poverty, Obedience and Chastity, 
And in a fourth he found them all expressed, 
For him all gathered were in Music's breast, 
And in God's house 
He took her for his spouse, — 
[ 3 1 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

High union that the world's eye never scans 

Nor world's way knows. 
Not any penny of applauding hands 
He caught, nor would have caught, 
Not any thought 
Save to obey 
Obedience that bade him play, 

And for his bride 
To have none else beside, 
That both might keep unflecked their virgin 
snows. 

Yet by our God's great law 

Such marriage issue saw, 

As they who cast away may keep, 

Who sow not reap. 

In Chastity entombed 

His manhood bloomed, 

And children not of earth 

Had spotless birth. 
With might unmortal was he strong 

That he begot 

Of what was not, 
Within the barren womb of silence, song. 

Yea, many sons he had 
To make his sole heart glad — 
[4] 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

Romping the boundless meadows of the air, 
Skipping the cloudy hills, and climbing bold 
The heavens' nightly stairs of starry gold, 
Nay winning heaven's door 
To mingle evermore 
With deathless troops of angel harmony. 
He filled the house of God 
With servants at his nod, 
A music-host of moving pageantry, 
Lo, this a priest, and that an acolyte: 
Ah, such we name aright 
Creative art, 
To body forth love slumbering in the 
heart . . . 
Fools, they who pity him, 
Imagine dim 
Days that the world's glare brightens not. 
Until the seraphim 
Shake from their flashing hair 
Lightnings, and weave serpents there, 
His days we reckon fair. . . . 

Yet more he had than this; 
Lord of the liberative kiss, 
To own, and yet refrain, 
To hold his hand in rein. 
[ 5 ] 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

High continence of his high power 
That turns from virtue's very flower, 
In loss of that elected pain 
A greater prize to gain. 
As one who long had put wine by- 
Would now himself deny 
Water, and thirsting die. 
So, sometimes he was idle at the keys, 
Pale fingers on the aged ivories ; 

Then, like a prisoned bird, 
Music was seen, not heard, 
Then were his quivering hands most strong 
With blood of the repressed song, — 

A fruitful barrenness. Oh, where, 

Out of angelic air, 
This side the heavens' spheres 
Such sight to start and hinder tears. 
Who knows, perhaps while silence throbbed 
He heard the De Profundis sobbed 

By his own organ at his bier to-day, — 
It is the saints' anticipative way, 
He knew both hand and ear were clay. 
That was one thought 
Never is music wrought, 
For silence only could that truth convey. 

[ 6 ] 



THE DEAD MUSICIAN 

Widowed of him, his organ now is still, 

His music-children fled, their echoing feet yet 

fill 
The blue, far reaches of the vaulted nave, 
The heart that sired them, pulseless in the 

grave. 
Only the song he made is hushed, his soul, 
Responsive to God's touch, in His control 
Elsewhere shall tune the termless ecstasy 
Of one who all his life kept here 
An alien ear, 
Homesick for harpings of eternity. 



[7 1 



A HIVE OF SONG 



IMMORTALITY 

I shall go down as the sun goes 
Over the rim of the world — 

Will there be quiet around me, 
As of sunset banners furled? 

I shall take flight as a bird wings 

Into the infinite blue — 
What if my song come ringing 

Down through the stars and the dew ? 

I shall mount, strong as the promise 
Forged in love's white, first fire — 

A soul through the rustling darkness 
On pinions of desire. 



[ ii 1 



THE SIGN 

Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 

— Swinburne. 

Not leaf by leaf the altered woodlands lose 
The summer's glory, lingering overlong, 

But bird by bird whose flight the wood-way 
strews 
With silence, fallen foliage of song. 

And spring begins not thus, O singing mouth, 
Blossom by blossom, the trees yet being 
dumb, — 
But rather say, when wings flash from the 
south 
Carol by carol the spring is come. 



[ 12 ] 



THE EARTH-HOUR 

The earth was made fn twilight, and the 

hour 
Of blending dusk and dew is still her own, 
Soft as it comes with promise and with power 
Of folded heavens, lately sunset-blown. 

Then we who know the bitter breath of earth, 
Who hold her every rapture for a pain, 
Yet leave the travail of celestial birth 
To wipe our tears upon the dusk again. 

But vain ; the spirit takes, in sovereign mood, 
A sure revenge, as in some tree apart 
A whippoorwill sets trembling all the wood, — 
The silence mends more quickly than the 
heart. 



[ 13 1 



THE POET'S BREAD 

Morn offers him her flasked light 
That he may slake his thirst of soul, 

And for his hungry heart will Night 
Her wonder-cloth of stars outroll. 

However fortune goes or comes 
He has his daily certain bread, 

Taking the heaven's starry crumbs, 
And with a crust of sunset fed. 



[ i4 1 



FORGIVENESS 

Now God be thanked that roads are long and 
wide, 
And four far havens in the scattered sky: 
It would be hard to meet and pass you by. 

And God be praised there is an end of pride, 
And pity only has a word to say, 
While memory grows dim as time grows 
gray. 

For, God His word, I gave my best to you, 
All that I had, the finer and the sweet, 
To make — a path for your unquiet feet. 

Their track is on the life they trampled 
through ; 
Such evil steps to leave such hallowing. 
Now God be with them in their wandering. 



[ i5 ] 



A MARCH EVENING 

Fail from the field the shouts of play, 
While twilight falls like snow, 

And overheard on their westering way 
The silent swallows go. 

But songs are brooding in the hush, 
And green sleeps in the sod, — 

Tomorrow you shall hear the rush 
Of life, come fresh from God. 



[ 16 ] 



O TWILIGHT HOUR! 

O twilight hour, you come and take my 
heart, 
With all your folded wings and colors 

flown 
From all your folded flowers, silver 
grown — 
O twilight hour, you come and take my heart. 

Your feet have trod what alien, far ways, 
On all the battlefields of time you came, 
In many a bower you fell upon love's flame, 

Your feet have trod what wonderful sad ways. 

Egypt has met you, and the crest of Rome 
Has bowed you homage with a vassal smile, 
And shadowy kingdoms of the dreaming 
Nile; 

Egypt has kissed you, Greece and faded Rome. 



[ 17 ] 



O TWILIGHT HOUR! 

What prayers have fallen on your silver ear, 
Franconian fields and Frison fiords among; 
Bells have bespoke you, weeping queens 
have sung: 

The vespers of the world is in your ear. 

Contented eyes have closed in your embrace, 
Your seamless peace has covered wild 

alarms ; 
Nurse of deep sleep, the gray zone of your 
arms 
Shall fold the waiting worlds in last em- 
brace. 

O twilight hour, you come and take my heart 
And shake my soul with silent presagings ; 
I walk a lonely road, and no wind sings, 

But come, O twilight hour, and take my 
heart. 



[ 18 ] 



HARVEST-FIELDS 

I walked today through a clover meadow, 
mown 

And sweet with dying bloom; 
Treading under my feet a glory fit to grace 

A king's way, or his tomb : 
Acres of loveliness laid low, and dying 
Of numberless lives, only the winds sighing. 

And I thought, as who does not, of other 
fields, 
Flowered with unnumbered dead, 
Wondering how those kings, the flowers of 
grass, 
Hold up a regal head, 
Plan of closer cutting, redder harvest-making, 
All the world sighing and its heart breaking. 



[ 19 1 



VER 

Sandalled with violets, adown the breaking 

way 
She cometh, misty-eyed with hopes of May; 
The changing splendor of the morning skies 
Holds less of promise than her waiting eyes. 

Across the black, ploughed fields her scarf of 

rain 
In floating folds enwraps the leaping grain, 
While 'neath the velvet press of her thin feet, 
Quickens to growth the yet unbladed wheat. 

And as she dreameth, down the blue, far rills 
Rise windy banks of unborn daffodils, — 
Soft! is it growing grass or young birds' call 
Lisping to her, the Mother of them all? 



[20] 



DROUGHT 

There is no clover, and the frustrate bees, 
Abroad upon the fields and down the lane, 
Through all the forests of unflowered trees, 
Monotonously murmuring, complain. 
Murmuring monotonous, with wilding wings 
That bear no blossomy burden nightly home, — 
For all their laboring, but idle things, 
But builders of a barren honeycomb. 
Thus is it now the summer of my dreams 
When falls no drop of rain or quickening 

dew; 
There are but sands where late were singing 

streams, 
And dusty bareness where the sweet thyme 

grew: 
The bees of all my thoughts are idle long, 
There is no honey in the hive of song. 



[21 ] 



A FAREWELL 

Forget me, and remember me, O heart! 
Forget me for the dear delight of days 
We walked together down fair, fragrant 
ways ; 

Remember me for that I now depart. 

For that I give our one sure hour of bliss 
As venturing a distant promised peace, 
Give joy, for hope that joy may ne'er de- 
crease, — 

Reluctant heart, forget me not for this. 

Nay, keep me in your fairest thoughts, my 
fair ; 
Though all the sundering night be set to 

pain, 
It shall be day when we two meet again, 
In some far valley of the timeless air. 



[ 22 ] 



THE EARTH MOTHER 

Her lap is full of dead; the tears 

Wash down her graying cheek ; 
Unto her riven heart the years 

No comfort speak. 

She holds them close, the flowers, the leaves, 

Her yearly loved and dead; 
The universal Rachel grieves 

Uncomforted. 



[*3 ] 



ON A LITTLE BOY WHO DIED 

You did not wait the spring 

For burgeoning, 

But ere the first flowers broke our sod 

You blossomed at the feet of God. 

I think there was that calling in your blood 

Long months, and we not understood. 

For I remember, now that you are dead, 

How often in the days that sped 

With shout and play about you, you 

Withdrew 

And for companion silence took 

With a still look. 

I noticed, standing by your side, 

Your eyes were wonder-wide 

And you seemed listening, though my ear 

No sound could hear. 

Once on your quietness I broke ; 

As one that woke 

From strange dreams, awed but mild, 

You caught my words and smiled ; 

[ 24 ] 



ON A LITTLE BOY WHO DIED 

And though with ready speech 

You spoke, I knew I could not reach 

By any art 

The late far-listening heart. 

You were wooed gently, little one, 

Into the sun. 

Death laid aside his awful state 

Lest you should fear this new playmate, 

And led you off to playgrounds green 

Eye hath not seen. 



[*5 ] 



DANTE TO BEATRICE ON EARTH 

It is come home to me in secret hour — 

O thou who sharest of the soul in me, 
And givest of thyself into my power 

The very essence of the heart of thee, — 
We do in this commingling but rehearse, 

With weary awkwardness of hands and 
feet, 
And with what marrings of immortal verse, 

A life that love forsworn but makes com- 
plete. 
This being so, O one of all my heart, 

Witness what turn of iron consequence 
Upon us comes: the woven hands must part, 

And right and left must be an exit hence. 
Love shall withdraw to be love evermore, — 
Ring down the curtain, and the play give o'er. 

For you and I are shadows of the Light, 
We are but echoes of a perfect Song; 

We hold dominion but as stars, in night, 
Our blended voices, are they ever strong? 
[ 26 ] 



DANTE TO BEATRICE ON EARTH 

What shall we say, whose struggle to pursue 

A valorous role but bare escapes the sting 
Of shamed surrender, would the words come 
true 

By Babylon's waters should we try to sing? 
Hush, hush, O heart! The other side of sky 

There is, believe it, love, a wondrous Hand 
Forever wiping eyes forever dry; 

There are no willows growing in that land, 
And never shall the lips of love be mute, 
God making of our hearts a faultless lute. 

There have been lovers since the stars were 
young; 
We come upon a scene which time has 
worn ; 
There have been who their souls away have 
flung 
And found them afterward, bruised all and 
torn. 
Matching their mortal with a deathless thing, 
The brave and beauteous spirit they have 
spurned, 
Risen unchanged, shall they have heart to 
sing, 
Burning forever as on earth they burned? 
[ 27 ] 



DANTE TO BEATRICE ON EARTH 

There in our heaven of unsundered bliss, 

If any tears were left us to bestow, 
Should not the thought of their triumphless 
kiss 
Cause the sweet currents of old grief to 
flow? 
Yet though tears burned the cheeks of their 

despair, 
The hand of God shall not be busy there. 



[ 28 ] 



DREAMS OF DONEGAL 



INHERITANCE 

In Donegal, where old romance yet blows 
O'er hill and hearth, the children in the blast 
Of storm hear cries and clashing arms of 

those 
Whose dreams were deeds, in Eire's living 

past. 

And looking on the fields with clover spread 
They never stop to pick the wind-stirred 

bloom ; 
Those flowers might be the blood their fathers 

shed 
Now come to ruddy blossom on their tomb. 

They look upon the lifted sea that flows 

In mountains shoreward, breaks, and piles 

again ; 
The winds, they say, thus heap a cairn for 

those 
Who have God's acre in the unmarked main. 
[ 31 ] 



INHERITANCE 

I never saw the fields those children see, 
The fog-scarfed mountains, nor the hilly deep, 
But share their every dream and memory, — 
Only the age-long hates I can not keep. 

For there they lie, my fathers and their foes, 
As in one grave they wait the trumpet call ; 
O'er some the foam, o'er some the clover 

blows, 
The while they're sleeping long in Donegal. 



[ 32 ] 



LAMENT OF THE STOLEN BRIDE 

Faery Child: Come, newly married bride. 
W. B. Yeats, The Land of 
Heart's Desire. 

Go, thought of my heart, on the wings of the 
wind 

O'er the green on the meadows wide, 
By the deep dark woods, with the sea behind, 

Where the stars at anchor ride ; 
Steal into the heart of my old true love 

As he turns from the shining plough, 
And tell with the voice of the home-come 
dove 

Of the hunger that's on me now. 

Ochone, for the land that is far away, 
And Shawn of the stout warm arms; 

Oh, better a world where the light is gray 
And night is thick with alarms, 

Than forever the music's maddening beat 
In the moonlit faery land, 
[ 33 ] 



LAMENT OF THE STOLEN BRIDE 

Than the ceaseless whir of the tripping feet 
And the clasp of the bloodless hand. 

E'en yet, when night is on fire with stars, 

Or dropping the silver day, 
I can hear the fall of the pasture bars 

And the lilt of his whistled lay. 
Then shaken from me are the dreamers' 
charms, 

My hand from the dancers' slips, 
And the mother stands lonely with empty 
arms, 

And the widow with hungering lips. 



[ 34 1 



THE SPELL OF DONEGAL 

The hills of Donegal are green, 
And blue the bending sky, — 

For sky and hills I have not seen 
The holiest love have I. 

There was my father born, and there 
My mother's cheeks were red, 

And blessed with sacred rite and prayer 
Sleep all my kindred dead. 

Across the fields the storm clouds sweep, 
The screaming sea-birds call, 

And waiting mothers watch and weep 
On the coast of Donegal. 

Hundreds of leagues to west and more 

My own loved country lies, 
And I must seek its eastward shore 

With seaward straining eyes. 



[ 35 ] 



THE SPELL OF DONEGAL 

Is it the legends of that isle 
That hold my soul in thrall, 

Its awful splendor, mile on mile, 
Where thundering breakers fall? 

Is it a spell of water-wraith 

That thrills me through and through, 
Or spirit of my fathers' faith 

That springs in me anew? 

The hills of Donegal are green 

And blue the sky above, — 
For sky and hills I have not seen 

I keep the holiest love. 



[ 35 ] 



IN EXILE 

A wind comes over my heart, asthore, 

With a shaking of silver wings, 
From the green, far hills I shall see no more, 

Where your morning linnet sings. 

There comes to me now, like a flutter of 
leaves, 

The lilt of a tune and the tap of a shoe, 
My heart at the memory throbs and grieves, 

Oh, the voice and the looks of you ! 

Over the wind-vexed, sobbing seas 
My dream-faint eyes now stray ; 

I am borne by a lilt on the evening breeze 
To a vanished Patrick's Day. 



[ 37 ] 



A SHRINE OF DONEGAL 

Lough Derg, Lough Derg, how chant the 
waves along 

Thy solemn shores, and in the flowing air 
Drift murmurs of an unforgotten song 

And of remembered prayer. 

A land of sainted soil and hallowed sea, 
Round no more sacred isle the broad tide 
rolls, 
Lough Derg, than where the waters compass 
thee, 
Crowned with thine aureoles. 

For thee the print of Patrick's holy bones 
Blesses; and echoes of the centuries' feet 

That nrved along the penitential stones 
In all thy winds are sweet. 



[ 38 ] 



A SHRINE OF DONEGAL 

Here came my fathers in their life's high day 
In barefoot sorrow, but God knows the 
whole : 

Not for themselves they fasted, but to lay 
Up riches for my soul. 

Great waters are between thy shores and me, 
My feet upon thy strand may never stray, 

But, O Lough Derg, the prayers they said on 
thee 
Fall on my need today. 



[ 39 ] 



KILLYBEGS 

The harbor lights of Killybegs 

Look out to an open sea, 
Where powder and wine in Spanish kegs 

Came over in 'ninety-three. 

Red Hugh he was the chieftain bold, 

And high his word in Spain, 
Where never a don his beads that told 

But cursed the English main. 

Grandee and Irish chief were one 

To hate the apostate foe, 
And all they did was justly done 

To answer woe with woe. 

For every Irish lass's eyes 
Downcast for English shame, 

Beneath the accusing Irish skies 
Goes down an English name. 

[40] 



KILLYBEGS 

For every bairn sadly born, 

For old men wanton killed, 
An English heart is fitly torn 

And the wild blood fairly spilled. 

A cross, I know, no sword was raised 

There by the man of God, 
But Patrick's dead eyes must have blazed 

Under the outraged sod. 

I am a man of peaceful palm, 
The leaves of a book I turn : 

Think you these old tales leave me calm ? 
I blush, I weep, I burn. 

My mother was born in Killybegs, 

Long after 'ninety-three; 
And I bless the bursting Spanish kegs, 

The harbor and the sea. 



[ 4i 1 



THE BIRD OF GOD 



PREVISION 

I can not tell what way the years will lead, 
How hands may falter and how feet may 

bleed, 
What deep contentment I shall have or need, 
I can not tell. 

I do not know why the fleet early years 
Should shake me with surmise of future fears ; 
Why golden suns set in a gloom of tears 
I do not know. 

I must not ask of winter winds that come 
Across the ground where men sleep cold and 

dumb, 
If I shall rest there well, — of my last home 
I must not ask. 



[45 ] 



PREVISION 

I shall not shrink, maybe I shall not dread, 
When time has slowed my step and bowed my 

head, 
To go away, to join the cloistered dead 
I shall not shrink. 

I shall have hope, in spite of heavy shame, 
Among God's pensioners to find my name, — 
In Him who for the strayed and lost ones 
came 

I shall have hope. 



[ 46 ] 



RESTORATION 

From these dead leaves the winds have 
caught 

And on the brown earth fling, 
Yea, from their dust, new hosts shall rise 

At the trumpet call of Spring. 

Thus may the winds our ashes take, 

But in that far dusk dim, 
When God's eye hath burnt up the worlds, 

This flesh shall stand with Him. 



[ 47 ] 



IN THE NIGHT 

The joyful heart is slow to sleep, 

Repose it does not crave; 
But weary are the eyes that weep 

By sick-bed or by grave. 

I lay awake the livelong night, 
By joy too much made glad; 

But with the coming of the light 
I found my heart more sad. 

The wings of joy are light and fleet, 
They pass and leave no trace; 

Deep prints are marked by sorrow's feet 
Upon the spirit's face. 

But God can fill the hollows up 

With undeparting peace, 
And they who drain their sorrow's cup 

Know pain at last will cease. 

[48 1 



IN THE NIGHT 

The joyful heart, so slow to sleep, 
May find its morning night, — 

The heavy eyes of those who weep 
May never lose the light. 



[49 ] 



THE WOOF OF LIFE 

In the moth-hour's silver gloom 

The Weaver at His loom 
The quiet pattern of my life would trace. 

The grayness of the moth 

He wove into the cloth, 
And wrought thereon the red rose of your 
face. 



[ so] 



THE WINGS OF REST 

The marble door before Thy face 
What is it but a little dust? 

The chalice, golden, rubied vase, 
Will drop away as all things must. 

Thus fleeting are the things of sense, 

Thyself alone eternal art; 
Not more the universe immense 

Thy home, than any human heart. 

In this dim room the tides of time 
Are changed and ever changing still ; 

Here while the hour-bells steady chime 
Works out serene Thy timeless will. 

I stand before Thee but a space, 
If faith be seeing, sight is dim, — 

To sinners mercy show, Thy face 
For sunset eyes of seraphim. 

[ 5i 1 



THE WINGS OF REST 

And they, my friends, who travel far, 
They do not leave me, for with Thee 

Distance is not, and every star 

Whirls round Thy finger ceaselessly. 



[ 52] 



REQUITAL 

If lips with olden memories 

In heaven are sweet, 
Mine shall have burning ecstasies 

That kissed His feet. 

If lips grown gray with pain, 

In heaven are red, 
Then mine shall bloom again, 

Of life here bled. 

If souls earth-emptied here, 

In heaven are filled, 
O heart, then let thy fear 

Be stilled, be stilled. 



[ 53 ] 



ANGELS AT BETHLEHEM 

Now at length they look on Him, 

Unbeginning Awe, — 
Cherubim and Seraphim, — 

On the oaten straw. 

Dost thou know, who dost not speak, 

Woman all benign, 
They have come from far to seek 

Little Son of thine? 

They have stored their gold and myrrh 

Ages who shall tell, 
Frankincense, since Lucifer 

Quenched his name in hell. 

Thrones and Dominations, Powers, 
Trembling on that doom, 

Waited all the timeless hours 
On thy nine months' womb. 

[ 54 1 



ANGELS AT BETHLEHEM 

Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, 

In the stable dim, 
Come with ox and ass to dwell, 

Serving Elohim. 



[ 55 1 



CHRISTMAS CAROL 

Lambs and little children, 

Gather two by two; 
Little Lamb and lowly Child 

Here is laid for you. 
Come to Mary's tender Son, 
Worship all, and one by one. 

Lights are on His forehead, 

Little children, see; 
Other stars shall burn there, 

Red as stars may be. 
Guileless children, for us plead, 
Us for whom the Lamb must bleed. 

Little lambs, all in a row, 

Lay your faces down 
Till the Lady Mary stoop 

And touch you with her gown. 
Little children, laugh and nod, 
Gamboling round the Lamb of God. 

[ 56 1 



AFTER CHRISTMAS 

Snowed over with the moonlight, 
Or turning back the noon-light, 
Down through the grooves of space 
Earth swung its old, slow way. 
But, thronging the rim of heaven, 
Angels from morn till even, 
Watched earth with reverent pace 
Silent its orbit trace, 
Cradle wherein God lay. 



[ 57] 



HIS FEET 

The Babe is sleeping sweet, 
The Mother bending low 

Above the folded feet, — 

The roads that they shall go! 

By lake and little town, 
By heading fields of corn, 

The city, up and down, 
Noon and night and morn. 

Dusk and dark and day, 

In ministering free, 
They walk the broad highway, 

They tread the very sea. 

Unfettered, tireless till — 
With all their labor red — 

They climb a weary hill, 
Their work consummated. 

[ 58 1 



HIS FEET 

Consummated? Not so, 

Those shamed and shining feet 
The Way forever show, 

And make the going sweet. 



[ 59 ] 



THE SON OF MAN 

He lit the lily's lamp of snow 
And fired the rose's sunset heart, 

He timed the light's long ebb and flow 
And drove the coursing winds apart. 

He gathered armfuls of the dew 

And shook it over earth again, 
He spread the heaven's cloth of blue 

And topped the fields with plenteous grain. 

He tuned the stars to minstrelsy 
As twilight soft, as bird song wild, 

Who learned beside His Mother's knee 
His prayers like any other child. 



[ 60] 



THE POOR MAN OF GALILEE 

Is He alone at birth 

Due garb denied, 
When all the looms of earth 

His power hath plied ? 

Must He go houseless, too? 

Birds are more blest; 
'Neath all the nightly dew 

For Him no nest? 

Beg of the wayside corn 

His daily bread, 
The running stream not scorn 

With stooping head? 

Till at the last His tree 

Should yield Him all, 
Bed, drink, and garment free, 

The Blood, the gall. 

[ 61 ] 



THE POOR MAN OF GALILEE 

For us as if to save 

He is denied, — 
Unto the last He gave, 

Lo, hands and side. 



[ 62 ] 



THE VIRGIN PERFECT 

The lowly things were sweet to her, 

The clover and the dew; 
Creation all seemed meet to her, 

Both violet and rue. 

A simple, busy day was hers 

Within her garden dell; 
The common, even way was hers, 

But walked uncommon well. 

Not that she heard, but kept the word, 

In this her virtue lay; 
She slept at night when slept the Word, 

To slumber was to pray. 



[ 63 ] 



TO ST. JOSEPH 

St. Joseph, when the day was done 
And all your work put by, 

You saw the stars come one by one 
Out in the violet sky. 

You did not know the stars by name, 

But there sat by your knee 
One who had made the light and flame 

And all things bright that be. 

You heard with Him birds in the tree 
Twitter " Good-night " o'erhead, — 

The Maker of the world must see 
His little ones to bed. 

Then when the darkness settled round, 
To Him your prayers were said; 

No wonder that your sleep was ground 
The angels loved to tread. 

[ 64 ] 



ON A PICTURE OF THE HOLY 
FAMILY 

One, His very Mother, she 
Holds the Child upon her knee, — 
Him, the Second of the Three. 

Unbegot ere time began, 
Truly God and truly Man, 
Infinite in finite span. 

One, with lilies in his hand, 
By the two is seen to stand, — 
Was there ever aught so grand ! 

Thus, when Joseph's work was done, 
Sat the Mother and the Son, — 
Unity and three in one. 

Joseph's house is surely blest, 
Harboring such wondrous Guest, — 
Oh, but what of Mary's breast! 
[ 65 ] 



PICTURE OF THE HOLY FAMILY 

What of her whose heart supplied 
To His veins their crimson tide, — 
Word made Flesh within her side ! 

Draw the veil of heaven and see 
Where in heaven's height is she, — 
Nearest to the Trinity. 

And beside her very nigh, 
On the other side of sky, 
Joseph sure is standing by. 

Christ, as though the Trinity 
Were not home enough for Thee, 
Ye are still a family. 



[ 66] 



THE BAPTIST 

Leaping for joy ere birth, 
Shalt have scant joy of earth ; 
A dying life soon dies, 
Thy head a strumpet's prize. 
And yet above thy bier 
An epitaph dost hear 
That makes thy dead heart leap 
With joy, all its long sleep. 
What was the Poet's word 
Thy lonely spirit stirred ? — 
Hush, hymns of night and morn : 
"Holiest of woman born." 



[ 67 ] 



GETHSEMANE 

He entereth the Garden, lonely, — 

Follow Him, O my soul! 
He falleth, and lieth pronely, — 

Down on thy face, my soul ! 
Angels are all anear Him, 

Yet is He lone, my soul; 
Demons no longer fear Him, — 

Lo, how the red streams roll! 
Only thy love can cheer Him: 

Tell Him I love Him, my soul. 

Into the deep hell with Him, 

Follow Him, O my soul! 
Horrors no words tell, with Him 

Drink of them deep, my soul. 
Challenge the worlds for sorrow, 

Shoulder the weight, my soul ; 
Woes of the ages borrow, 

Take of all suffering toll: 
Think not of rest to-morrow; 
Bleed with Him, O my soul! 
[ 68 1 



THE MOTHERS 

Three mothers met that woeful day; 
One as her dead Son pale, one gray 
With grieving, and one red with shame: 
All called upon one blessed Name. 

One from the sorrow of the Cross, 
One by the woe of kindred loss, 
And one cried out in agony 
From shadow of a blacker tree. 

One gave the Nazarean birth, 

One brought the pardoned thief to earth, 

While of that hopeless one begot 

Was Judas the Iscariot. 



[ 69 ] 



AMONG HIS OWN 

{In a Children's Chapel) 

He lives among His own, the children's God: 
Above and by and round Him hourly pass 
Their hurrying feet; down hall or stairs, a 

pause, 
And in the hush outside a knee is bent 
In silent adoration of the Guest. 
The Guest ? Ah, no ! The very Host is He, 
And they the dwellers in His mansioned Heart. 
For them the day is full of work and play, 
Of ringing sounds, of mirth and little griefs 
That brim a little soul ; and they forget 
The awful Presence, as the child forgets 
His mother, when the day is very full, — 
Forgets her in the mind, not in the will. 
For though they come and go, and laugh and 

shout, 
At nightfall, when the spirit's eyes are wide, 
And conscience looks across the vanished hours, 
They find, what all the day contented Him, 
[ 7o] 



AMONG HIS OWN 

They have not left the path He'd have them 

tread ; 
His arms were 'neath them, and His voice was 

heard 
In all the secret councils of their deeds. 
And when they fall asleep they hold His hand. 



[ 7i 1 



PARTUS VIRGINIS 

Him whom, as mothers use, 

I bosomed full tide, 
I bore, King of the Jews, 

And God, beside. 

They speak of star and kings, 
Wondrous in Bethlehem, 

And angels with great wings- 
Enough, of them. 

What should my thoughts do 
Since the March weather, 

And first God and I drew 
Breath together? 

What should I think upon, 

Day or night tide, 
Since Elizabeth's son 

Knew, in her side, — 

[ 72 ] 



PARTUS VIRGIN IS 

But the coming of Another, 

On His shoeless feet, 
I, the budding earth, His Mother, 

And my breast spring-sweet? 

Was it night or day breaking? 

Little I could spin, 
Who knew my veins making 

Robe He should die in. 

Nazareth, or David's town, 

It was equal to me ; 
Straw, or eiderdown, 

Shepherds, royalty. 

There were only He and I, 

Within, without me, 
All the still sky 

Folded about me. 

He came : we two apart ; 

And I thought Him dead 
Till He wailed, when my heart 

Broke, and joy bled. 



[ 73 1 



QUATRAINS 



MARTHA AND MARY 

When Light is dead, the busied Day 
Folds weary hands and glides away ; 
While Night outspreads her starry hair 
Upon His grave, and worships there. 



[ 77 ] 



IN WINTER 

Like ghosts of birds, the flocking flakes 
Amid the leafless branches fly, — 

But ah, the songs, what power remakes 
Of silence vanished minstrelsy? 



[ 78 ] 



ELEVATION 

Throned in His Mother's arms, 
Christ rests in slumber sweet ; 

Except at God's right hand, 
For Him no higher seat. 



[ 79 ] 



THE SHAMROCK 

Sprung from a vanished hour 
Of sun and shower, 

You bore a people's faith, 
A fadeless flower. 



[ 80] 



RECEPTION 

A Magdalen, the scarlet Day, 
Knocked at Eve's convent bars ; 

Comes Twilight, penitent in gray, 
Telling her beads, the stars. 



[ 81 ] 



THE SON OF GOD 

The fount of Mary's joy 
Revealed now lies, 

For, lo, has not the Boy 
His Father's eyes? 



[ 82] 



THE SPENDTHRIFT 

With grasping hand and heart of strife 
He seeks the fame that briefly lingers, 

And all the while the gold prize, life, 
Is slipping through his heedless fingers. 



[ 83 1 



TWO CHILDREN 

Names do but mock you while they greet; 

Sweetness and light you are — 
The light beyond all saying sweet, 

The sweetness like a star. 



[84] 



STARS 

The foolish virgins ye, your lamps 
Through all the waiting night ye trim, 

But when the bridegroom Morn is nigh 
Ye wither at the kiss of him. 



[ 85 ] 



LIFE 

Only one springtime for the sowing, 
And one brief summer for the growing; 
Only one autumn for the reaping 
Of harvest for the winter's keeping. 



[ 86 ] 



REQUEST 

Lay lilies on dead innocence, 
Strew roses on the bier of love, 

But let my grave of penitence 
Be sweet with violets above. 



[ 87] 



SCOURGED AND CROWNED " 

A regal sequence see: 
Him whom His subjects loathed, — 
Before He crowned should be — 
They first with Purple clothed. 



[ 88 ] 



RAIMENT 

The seamless cloak He wore 
They kept, nor broke a thread 

His garb of flesh they tore 
As if from shred to shred. 



[ 89 ] 



AT EMMAUS 

They knew Him when He broke the bread 
Was't by the accompanying word He said 
Which faith, though faltering, understands, 
Or wounded beauty of His hands? 



[ 90 ] 



THE NATIVITY 

A MIRACLE PLAY 
PERSONS 

The Holy Family 
Matthias Rebecca 

Their Infant Son 
Shepherds Angels 

Scene I 

Bethlehem, the night of Christ's birth. Early 
evening, near the house of Matthias. Enter 
Joseph, leading an ass upon which the Virgin 
Mary is seated. 

Joseph. 
A wind hath blown the heavens into flame 
About us ; earth is silver to our feet. 
By night, by day, God's hand hath guided us, 
Pillar and cloud His firmament hath been 
To bring us hither ; this should be the town 
Of David, city of our sire. 
[ 9i 1 



THE NATIVITY 

Mary. 

Even so. 

Joseph. 

Here where the unknowing workman left an 

arch 
In the broad wall we pass ; thus Israel's God 
Comes stooping to His own. 

Mary. 

Whereto He leads 
We can but follow now as ever, yet 
Methinks I hear, over the din of song 
That beat about our temples all the way, 
The night-song of a mother for her babe. 
Hark! 

(Crooning on the wind.) 

Baby, sleep, my child ; 

Deep the night hangs o'er thee. 

High the wind and wild; 

Dreaming is before thee. 

Come, come the happy slumber; 

Bright dreams be thine in number. 

Ah, baby, on thy mother's breast 

Is sleep for thee, for thee is rest. 
[ 92 ] 



THE NATIVITY 

Joseph. 

Let us approach ; the inn mayhap is far 
And crowded by the mandates of our king. 
(He knocks at the door of the house.) 

Matthias. 

(Within.) Who is it starts the peacefulness 

of night 
With clamorous knocking? 

Joseph. 

Two of David's house 
Come far, and weary; may we lodge to-night 
Beside thy hearth? 

Matthias. 

Mine house is all too strait 
For mine own household. (Opens the door.) 
Beggars and their beast, 
Begone. 

Rebecca. 

Hush; houseless, in the night, with child. 
Surely some room can still be made 

[93 ] 



THE NATIVITY 

Matthias. 

But no, 
We are too poor. (To Joseph.) The inn is 

farther down 
The road. (Looks at Mary.) And yet- — 

and yet 

Good night. 

(Mary and Joseph turn sorrowfully away.) 

Mary. 

(Looks at Rebecca.) Good night. 

Rebecca. 

Houseless, with child — O husband, call them 
back. 

Matthias. 
Peace, they will elsewhere shelter find and rest. 

Rebecca. 

(Musing.) Her eyes were like the pools of 

Hesebon 
That mirrowed her sad soul. 

(Their infant begins to weep.) 
[94] 



THE NATIVITY 

Matthias. 

Lo, here thy child 
Hath need of thee, and of thine every thought. 

Rebecca. 
He sickens, yea, his eyes begin to blur. 

Matthias. 

His temples burn; it is some malady 
Of sudden, unknown power. 

Rebecca. 

Give mc the child ; 
Fetch thee yon herbs medicinal and oil. 

Matthias. 
His eyes are fixed; how his bosom lifts! 

Rebecca. 
O God of Jacob, leave us still our son. 
{The infant dies. There is much lamenting.) 



[ 95 ] 



THE NATIVITY 



Scene II 



The stable. Midnight. Mary and Joseph, 
with shepherds and angels, adoring at the 
crib. 

(Chorus of angels.) 

From heaven He came, 
The Eternal Flame, 
To fire men's hearts 
With Love's own darts, 
To conquer sin 
And mercy win 
Of God above. 

Lo, in the straw — 
Near may ye draw, 
For God is weak 
That ye may speak, — 
The God of peace; 
Let earth's war cease — 

Toward men good will. 



[96] 



THE NATIVITY 



Rebecca. 



{Without.) God knows, God knows, my 

heart is bleeding sore; 
My son had hardly come to months that knew 
His mother's lips, his mother's face and voice; 
Warm with my kisses slept he, in an hour 
Cold in mine arms. 

But she, that pilgrim spouse, 
With all the lights of mother in her eyes, 
In dewy deeps the trembling wistfulness 
Of hopes unfathomable, — pleading eyes, 
Ye draw me from the shrouding of my babe, 
For she hath need of me. (Entering stable.) 
What wondrous light, 
What music is there here ! The Mother, ah, 
Her Babe. O God, stop all the clocks of time 
And never ring the passing of this hour! 

Joseph. 
Woman, thou look'st upon the face of God. 

Rebecca. 

I saw Him in His Mother's waiting eyes, 
And I have come from mine own babe's stark 
form 

[97 I 



THE NATIVITY 

With swaddling bands I never may need 
again. 

Mary. 

The heart of Abraham is in thy breast. 
(Giving her the cloths that were around 
Jesus. ) 

Lay these upon thine infant's quiet side, 
Sister, that hast this night befriended God. 



Scene III 

The flight. Night. Near the house of Mat- 
thias and Rebecca. Enter Joseph, leading 
an ass upon which is seated Mary with the 
Child. 

Joseph. 

Ye stars, that run before the winds of heaven, 
Hide in the frowning cliffs of mountainous 

cloud ; 
Thou, planet, wimpled as a maid, with light, 
Tell not our steps; God's finger points us far; 
The way is His who is the Way. (Lullaby 

on the air.) 

[ 98 1 



THE NATIVITY 

Mary. 

Soft, listen! 
Rebecca. 

(Within, singing.) 

Baby, sleep, my babe; 

God's own night is o'er us. 
Jesse's rod hath flowered ; 

Heaven opes before us. 
God sleeps as thou art sleeping, 
While angels watch are keeping. 
Sleep, sleep, until the songful dawn ; 
God's day is here, sin's night is gone. 

Mary. 
Yet, ere another westering sun his way 
Hath crimsoned, earth shall lie in their blood 

washed, 
The sons that sleep this night on mother 
breasts. 

Joseph. 
This woman's child hath died that he may live, 
Romping forever in the fields of heaven. 
(They pass along. Singly the stars drop out. 
The moon meets a cloud. Rebecca's lullaby 
dies away in the darkness.) 
[99 ] 



ODES 



A HOSTING OF THE GAEL 

Written for the presentation of the sword of 
Gen. Thomas Francis Meagher to the University of 
Notre Dame, which already possessed the flag of 
the Irish Brigade. 

This is a marriage feast today, 

A wished anniversary 

Of union and reunion; Emmet, Meagher, all 

True sons of Irish blood for honor dead, 

With lifted head, 

Hearken to this most jocund muster call ; 

Their ships are on the sea, — 

From ancient Donegal 

They come, from Kerry, 

Ah, and from Tipperary, 

Yea, rather, say 

From Dublin to Cathay, 

From Belgian battlefields, from Spain, 

From snowed Saskatchewan, from Afric sand, 

From Flodden Field, and Fontenoy, 

From every field and every land, 

Come man and boy 

1 103 ] 



A HOSTING OF THE GAEL 

To keep with us this day a sacred trust, 

For the earth is starred with work of Irish 

brain 
And rich with Irish dust. 
Behold, of heroes hosting here today, 
In the farthest fore 
Stand men whose eyes 
Are blue and gray 
Like Irish skies 
And like the coats they wore. 

No party festival of North or South 
By us is kept, 
And on our mouth 
No vaunting of a single patriot name 
To envied fame; 

But in one man stands glorified the race. 
Their brow we grace 
With crown of laurel and with olive leaf, 
And in proud grief 

That has no tongue and keeps its tears unwept, 
We greet the splendid host of Irish dead, 
Leaving their age-old shroud, 
Gaunt witnesses, a cloud, 
By every wind increased, 
Ghostly battalions led by greater ghosts 
[ 104 ] 



A HOSTING OF THE GAEL 

That round us troop, with measured, noiseless 

tread — 
O God of Hosts, 
We bid them welcome to our marriage feast. 

Should any answer come 

Whence stand they ranked and dumb? 

A sudden thunder of a shout 

Their throats give out 

As if these long dead bones 

Yet kept remembrance of old trumpet tones; 

The dense, straight ranks are stirred 

And rises one great word — 

" Fredericksburg " is heard, 

While comes this chorus forth : 

"We are the men that followed, followed after 
The sun-bright sword and the sea-bright 
flag, 
With a faith in our hearts that rose like 
laughter 
Most in the straits where the craven lag ; 
We are the men no danger daunted, 

Following Freedom like a star, 
Hot after glory, honor-haunted, 
[ 105 1 



A HOSTING OF THE GAEL 

With our flag of green and our sworded 
Meagher. 

" We are the men and these our brothers 

Who held the heights and threw us back ; 
Over them, too, these thousand others, 

A green flag waved through the war cloud 
black. 
And Fredericksburg is an open story, 

It was Irish blood both sides outpoured, 
For they, too, followed honor and glory, 

A green flag theirs, but not our sword. 

" And we are come from the peace of slumber, 

Nor North, nor South, by division sharp, 
But Irish all, of that world-wide number 

In all times mighty with sword and harp; 
To lift once more, from the dust, our voices, 

In one last cheer that may echo far — 
Fredericksburg in the grave rejoices, 

Now the Flag of Green weds the Sword of 
Meagher." 

So sang they, pale dead men, 
Risen from their cold dream 
To follow still the Gleam; 
[ 106 ] 



A HOSTING OF THE GAEL 

And in their hollowed eyes 

Were what with mortals pass for tears 

As after many years 

They saw again the frayed and faded fold 

That was their Cloth of the Field of 

Gold; 
And a flash as of a star 
When they saw the shining length 
Of the blade that in his strength 
Girt the dauntless Meagher. 
Lo! flag and sword together pressed, 
By all their eyes caressed. 
Then like a breath of prayer 
They melted on the air. 

Learn we from these our dead 

The meaning of this day, 
And be not lightly led 

From our fathers' way. 
Not what our hands may hold — 
Few threads of green and gold 
And storied steel — 
Not by these tokens may we feel 
Sons of our laurelled sires, 
Save that the same pure fires 
Burn all our souls within, 
[ 107 1 



A HOSTING OF THE GAEL 

And heart to heart, the quick heart to the dead, 

be kin. 
Keep we the Faith sword-bright 
By day, by night, 
Our fathers* meed shall never suffer loss 

But know increase. 
The sword itself is likened to the cross 

That is our peace. 



[ 108 ] 



ODE : FOR INDIANA DAY, PANAMA- 
PACIFIC INTERNATIONAL 
EXPOSITION 



PRELUDE — To California 

Who saw thy sunrise, Woman of the West ? 

For, Empress of the lands of dying day, 
With all time's sunsets buried in thy breast, 

Thou hadst such dawn as can not pass away: 
To sing of that fair hour is there not one, 

Mistress of the mansions of the sun? 
Not all unwarranted I come this day 

Which sees far-sundered strands 

In their united waters joining hands, 

And cheek to cheek Atlantic to Pacific lay. 

1 of a State that has for tide 

The coming and the going of the corn, 
Some borrowings of pride 

Bring to this jocund morn. 
When down thy washen flanks the daylight 
broke 
Through ancient night, a newer life and 
law, 
Barefooted men in brown — 
And earlier the blackgown — 

[ in ] 



PRELUDE— TO CALIFORNIA 

The promise of a day that would not set 

For thee bespoke, 
And their life saw — 

A glory that the world can not forget — 
The flowering and the fruitage of a toil 

Whose harvest was of hearts not less than 
wine and oil. 
O Feet, that tread the purple grapes of day 

Until that wine 
Thy seas a thousand leagues incarnadine; 

Thou that hast kept, how many ages old, 
The tollgates of the sun, and toll and gate are 

gold ; 
Arms that thou holdest, prophet-like, on high 

Till in thy daily sky 
A victory for the sun is writ in conquest 
flame, — 

Seek not my passing name 
But know 

That even as those sons of long ago, 
Thine earliest-born, the vanward of thy sires, 

Who found and kept thy wilderness a rose, 
Far-blushing to Sierra's silvering snows, — 
That so am I, 

Moulded and quickened by the selfsame fires, 
Minstrel and pilgrim of the sky, 

[ 112 ] 



PRELUDE— TO CALIFORNIA 

Whose singing were the night winds in the 
grass 
Which no one heeds, 

Except it were of more than mortal deeds, 
And memories that shall not pass, 

And men that can not die. 



[ »3 1 



ODE : Panama, The Mastery of Man 

Text of the rolling years that who shall scan ! 
Handwriting of a day that knew no sun, 
Rich palimpsest, through whose full lines 
appear 
The records of an earlier day fordone : 
Writing in stone, a future deed God 
wrought 
And folded it away until the year 

When, counting all our yesterdays as 
naught, 
His creature, Man, partaking of His 

power, 
Should read that purpose, and set free 
the hour 
Which marks completion of His ancient plan. 

For there has been a Workman great and 
good: 
Fathom on fathom laid He in the slime 
The unbreached links that chain the 
world in one. 

[ in] 



ODE: PANAMA, MASTERY OF MAN 

He made, and swung the pendulum of time, 

White magic at His word grew gathered 

light; 

What golden jungle could have laired the 

sun? 

He saw the Day upon the brow of Night 

Lay the first kiss that trembled into 

stars : — 
Here opening pleasances, there set- 
ting bars, 
The Worker in His power's plenitude. 

What lesser Being could have sired the sea 
Whose waters prove him nursling of the sky, 

Finding his cradle in the various earth, 
The ocean's hollow or the cowslip's eye, 

But ever passing up and down a stair — 
Procession of continual rebirth — 

The silken ladder of the sunbeams' hair: 
Behold the sea, how hath the mother- 
ing moon 
Some lullaby for him that she doth 
croon 
While slumbering his breast heaves peacefully. 



[ us ] 



ODE: PANAMA, MASTERY OF MAN 

Who zoned the worlds with greater worlds of 
air, 
A trackless footing where the lightnings run, 
The day's broad rampart and its rendez- 
vous 
Since chaos first was raided by the sun, — 

Titanic battles that have left no scar 
On all the frontier of its quiet blue 

Where soar our winged ships: the sentry 
star 
That sees them sudden rise, then dis- 
appear, 
To all their challenging but answers, 
" Here 
Is empery that God may not forswear." 

Not from the star-veined heavens comes our 
gold, 
Nor in the flashing skies is struck our fire, 
Doth any field of sunset give us bread ? 
Swollen with pride and loud with vain 
desire, 
Of old men were who vowed assault on 
heaven, 
Threatening with trowelled hand the day- 
spring's head : 
[ xi6 ] 



ODE: PANAMA, MASTERY OF MAN 

And Babel's very tongue is perished even, 
The sun shines down a mockery of 

their pain 
And there is laughter of them in the 
rain, — 
The earth is our inheritance, behold! 

The earth that is the sister of the sea, 

The earth that is the daughter of the stars, 
The mother of the myriad race of men : 
Gaze with Columbus over ocean bars, 

Drink with Balboa in thy thirsting eye 
The waters that he quaffed on Darien, 
With them turn homeward, loaded with 
new sky: 
Catch, if thou mayest, the lightning 

of the gleam 
That crowns their brow of continents 
a-dream, 
And thou hast neighbored immortality. 

Thy conquest is the taking of the world, 
The world that is and can not be but good 
Since God first looked upon His labors 
done. 

[ "7 1 



ODE: PANAMA, MASTERY OF MAN 

Canst thou forget Whose awful Feet have 
stood 
Even as Man upon the strand of time? 
The Orient He, but till the West is won, 
The furthest footing of the utmost clime, 
His message has a meaning and His 

law 
Compulsion of obedience and awe 
In Whom the racial destiny is furled. 

Westward and farther west till west is east, 
The oar, the spur, the spade, the axe, the 
cross, 
Humanity and Christ move onward one. 
And be it counted to mankind for loss 

If on this day no word be said or sung 
For him who took the highways of the sun, 
A pilgrim scrip about his shoulders flung, 
Glad robber of the roads that lead 

to death, 
Who stole men's souls, unto his lat- 
est breath, 
Conquistador for God, the mission priest. 

Ye men for whom our bannered song is flung, 

Whose muscles have a magic that the sea 

[ n8 ] 



ODE: PANAMA, MASTERY OF MAN 

And earth obey, yours is the conqueror's 
mind. 
Ye are the sons of olden chivalry, 

Yea, ye are sons of that high lineage 
Whose records written in the rock ye find ; 
Ye are the sons of Him, the Primal Mage, 
Whose might in yours has wrought 

till Panama 
Outrolls the latest workings of the 
Law 
Whose earliest deeds the stars of morning sung. 
Then let the morning and the night as one, 
Let East and West and all the lands be- 
tween, 
North worlds and south together find a 
voice 
Acclaiming what this day our eyes have seen. 

Until the heavens are folded like a tent 
Will all the thoughts of coming time rejoice 
Our swords were into yeoman plowshares 
bent, 
And while this year on half the na- 
tions fell 
The lightnings and the cursing rains 
of hell, 
The last great wonder of the world was done. 
[ »9] 



POSTLUDE: (To Indiana's Poet, 
James Whitcomb Riley.) 

Lo, o'er the fields at home now sinks the sun, 
And with the crickets' hum 
The tinkling bells of cattle homeward come 
Familiar tell 
The dim, tired land another day is done. 

And my song pauses for a last fare- 
well 
To you, and greeting unto one 
Whose ears 

Have caught, how many happy years, 
The murmurs of the music of our speech, 
Whose tongue 

Our simple days with kindred art has sung, 
And kept a silence where no word could reach. 
Him by whose Brandywine 
First strayed in childhood days these feet of 
mine, 
Brother and friend, 
I hail him as our State's sufficient pride 
And give him part — 
[ 120 ] 



POSTLUDE 

Whose words, deep-springing from a people's 

heart, 
Home-gathered there abide — 
In glories of a day that has its end, 
As has at length the lingering song of one 
Who brought his dreams to thee, O City of the 
Sun! 



THE END 



[ 121 ] 







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